


Measure Outside the Lines

by Koruga



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Jonah Week, M/M, Nonbinary/Genderfluid Barnabas Bennett, Period-Typical Transphobia, Queer Themes, Questioning Barnabas Bennett, Trans Jonathan Fanshawe, only in passing though neither of the characters express transphobic views
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koruga/pseuds/Koruga
Summary: Jonathan comes to Barnabas for fittings often enough. One day, Barnabas asks him a question.
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonathan Fanshawe
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55
Collections: Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus, Jonah Magnus Week 2020





	Measure Outside the Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Judie for beta reading this fic for me! It's time now for more Barnshawe, because I adore them, and a few feelings of mine. It's rated mature for casual nudity, but there's no sex involved. There is, however, a discussion of gender and genderfeelings, so if you'd rather not read that sort of thing, I'd suggest you skip it. I put a lot of my own genderfeels into Barnabas for this fic, so I'm not sure if they really make sense, but they are genuine, to some degree.

Most fittings could be done while still fully clothed, but Jonathan seemed more comfortable undressing, to let Barnabas measure him more completely. _For the best fit,_ he explained, and Barnabas had grown used to it, and the gentle delights that followed.

Jonathan rarely found a need for new clothes, anyway. He kept somewhat behind the latest fashions, and what he did need replaced was normally due to wear and tear, or stains of dirt, blood, and various bodily fluids from his work. He came in for fittings more often than he got new clothes, and waited patiently for an opening that Barnabas always seemed to have just around the corner.

Jonathan's clothes were made special. Slimming around the hips, for a broader chest that brought out the best in how he presented himself. Fitted pants, but room enough that he could slip something in without notice.

It was too easy to get distracted, to lose himself in his thoughts. As Barnabas began wrapping the tape measure around Jonathan's chest, he let his fingers brush against the little pulse point the doctor had showed them a few months back, distracted until the snap of Jonathan's fingers brought him back into reality.

"Sorry, sorry." Barnabas ducked his head bashfully and began measuring Jonathan's chest. This was the tricky part, of course -- Jonathan's girdle kept his figure slim and flat, but he still needed room to breathe, and Barnabas, while he was confident in his abilities as a tailor, only had three clients with such unique specifications.

"Take your time," John replied, gentle as he could be with Barnabas -- always so soft, always so careful. Barnabas knew Jonathan's temper could run hot at times, incensed against various indignities or frustrations, but he took the effort with Barnabas, so careful to not let any emotion overtake him.

It was strange, sometimes, to listen to John speak to the others in that little circle of theirs. He could spit fire at Robert when the latter spoke on his theories of balance in relation to the human body.

_("It's not a perfect match on both sides, we aren't symmetrical creatures by design -- why don't you stick to architecture as the one thing you pretend you know anything about?")_

His arguments with Jonah were nothing short of legendary, two men of passion at each other's throats; Jonah would speak on the latest case he'd discovered which might be supernatural, and Jonathan would rip into him for his blasé attitude on the topic.

_("Vivisection is not an option to be taken lightly, I don't care what could have been in his lungs; I won't break my oaths just to satisfy your damned curiosity!")_

Even against Mordechai, the stalwart, silent man, there were arguments to be had on the rare occasion the man actually spoke his mind or gave insight into his workings as a human.

_("Sometimes I doubt you actually understand how pregnancy works, and you're the only damned one here who actually has children. Do you have any conception_ of _conception, or do you just think it's some womanly magic trick?")_

It wasn't that he was argumentative by nature, not exactly -- at least, that's not how Barnabas saw it. It felt more as if John simply understood his own field, his own small area of understanding, and couldn't stand when other people pretended to comprehend it as well as he did.

If that was the case, then maybe it made sense that Barnabas never attracted his ire. He never pretended to understand medicine, never pretended to understand anything he didn't. He deferred to Jonathan on medicine, Rayner on astronomy, Jonah on any matter the others didn't claim expertise in. Even in his own areas, in sewing and weaving, in what anthropology he had taken an interest in, there were others who knew so much more. Jonathan's steady hand knew how to suture a wound better than Barnabas could make a stitch, and Robert and Jonah both knew far more about the nature and history of humanity than Barnabas could claim to. He knew things, but not the way the others did. He was simpler than them. It was better, most of the time, to defer to their wisdom on most topics.

They came to him for their clothes, of course, but that was all. Barnabas rarely had anything to add in matters of the supernatural. He didn't engage with that project as passionately as Jonah did, or offer as much scepticism as Jonathan. He simply stood on the side, watching men brighter than him go about their business with whatever they saw fit.

They were all so confident, as well. Heads held high, they were almost impossible to question. Jonathan, most especially -- he didn't speak on topics he didn't understand, and in those topics he shone above and beyond. Here was a man who had reinvented himself, who left one name for another and never looked back. Barnabas was almost envious of the confidence with which John held himself -- he knew who he was, and could correct nature itself when it erred to his creation. It was a level of certainty Barnabas would never be able to achieve, as much as he might want to. But that was alright. Barnabas didn't need to be sure of himself. He only ever needed to do what was asked of him, and to tailor the clothes rich men wore so they wouldn't look foolish at the next social event.

Barnabas didn't even notice he'd finished measuring John until the man tapped him on the shoulder, careful as could be. "Lost in your own thoughts again, Mr. Bennett?" he asked, making no moves to put his clothes back on.

"Drowning in them," Barnabas joked back with a feigned smile. It was impossible to say everything he felt, especially when he felt so much to begin with. John wouldn't want to hear about his inane ramblings, his vapid internal monologue, not when he had so much in his own mind to deal with. What was it he had spoken about, near the beginning of the fitting? A man who kept eating clay, was it, and the methods he had to use to treat such a malady, an obsession, an addiction? Jonathan's problems were unique, fascinating, incredible, and Barnabas's...well, Barnabas's problems weren't even problems, they were just thoughts that refused to go away.

Normally, after a fitting, Barnabas would invite John upstairs, to his makeshift bedroom where he slept when going back to his townhouse seemed like too much effort. They would have a drink -- tea should they convene before sunset, gin if they did so after -- and talk for a while before collapsing next to one another on the bed and experimenting as friends did. They would laugh, and love, and John would kiss Barnabas softer than rose petals on silk until there was nothing but affection between the two of them. It wasn't anything Barnabas talked about later, too afraid of ruining what rapport he had built with such a brilliant man, and such adoration never left the bedroom. It wasn't right, outside of it, it wouldn't be fair to Jonathan, as married to his work as he was.

That was their schedule, and it was only right that they stick to such a thing. Barnabas picked up John's girdle to help him get dressed, but his hand was stilled before he could put on the stays. "What's wrong, Barnabas?" Jonathan asked, with that impossibly gentle tone, and Barnabas's mouth dried up. What _was_ wrong, what had him feeling so inside himself yet apart from the world? Why wasn't he able to stay put, what caused him to be so lost within his own mind? Barnabas opened his mouth as if to let words of his own out, but nothing came. He shut his eyes tight to keep out the barrage of confusion upon him, the fear that perhaps now he was finally going to feel the fire Jonathan kept within him.

Instead, Barnabas felt warm arms around him, pulling him close into Jonathan's chest. The doctor kissed the top of Barnabas's head and rubbed circles into his back, soft and silent until Barnabas could finally project words from his mouth without spending the energy to filter them through his brain.

"How did you know you were a man?"

Jonathan inhaled sharply, and again Barnabas expected the fire, though it might have been hard to hear it over the roar in his ears. But Jonathan let out the breath, took in another, and chose his words carefully. "I was young enough, when I knew. It wasn't a sudden jolt of knowing, but rather a slow discontentment with where I was, and the consideration that perhaps, I knew better than my family, than my parents, on what I was meant to become." John pet Barnabas's hair quietly. "When my parents found out, they sent me to live with my aunt and uncle in Stuttgart for a few months. Enough time to set up a funeral for their daughter, and then their distant cousin, Jonathan, came home from a trip abroad and found a place to live with them."

Barnabas slowly turned his head upwards, to look at Jonathan properly. He was a beautiful man -- a sharp jaw, a hard brow. His hair was long, collected into a loose queue in the back that Barnabas knew was thick and slightly wiry. None would have guessed his secret, not unless they knew him most intimately. He was the picture of perfection, with a long, proud nose and serious eyes. Even the way he clenched his jaw and ground his teeth before continuing was perfectly practiced, perfectly done.

"I don't suppose that answers your question -- I knew because I felt better, when I stole my cousin's breeches and wore them myself. I had no love for dresses and corsets that emphasised my chest, and the thought of marrying a man, while appealing enough in theory, disgusted me when I thought of what that would entail. Bearing children, _having_ children, making them at all, it was a mess of awful concepts and I wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted to choose a different path. I was lucky enough, then, to have a family who allowed me to do so."

"I see." Barnabas's voice was quiet, hesitant enough. Jonathan could bear his entire heart to Barnabas, and all he could say was _I see?_ What an idiot he was, what a foolish man. He had to do better than that. "Then you knew from childhood. It doesn't develop as an adult."

"I suppose it could. My medical studies turn up a few others like me -- rarely open about it, but when you know what to look for, they become obvious enough. Many of them are ignored, or jailed, but some of us can go undetected. It's a difficult world to navigate, but I would say the euphoria from living truthfully is worth the fear." John looked down now, dark eyes meeting Barnabas's until he couldn't bear to look away. "Why do you ask? Do you feel similar inclinations -- or opposite ones, perhaps, if you were born as I wasn't."

Barnabas shook his head. "No -- not as you did. I'm comfortable with the form I was given, and feel no need to change it. I am a man, of that much I know. I have no desire to marry a woman, or sire children, but that is a different feeling completely from my body. I simply...at times, I suppose I'm jealous of women. They wear themselves so beautifully, their dresses and curls." Barnabas's face flushed as he spoke, but John's inquisitive gaze bid him to continue. "I wish sometimes to look like them, to act as they do, or to disappear within the line entirely. I feel no connection to femininity as you do with masculinity, but at the same time I have no innate attachment to the male experience." He smiled ruefully. "I'm not as brave as you or Magnus, I could never reinvent myself as you two did. I don't feel the way you do, it's simply a, a flight of fancy to be, sometimes, as the fairer sex may be."

It was something Barnabas had never said before, not in words, and here he was, spilling out his thoughts to a man who had yet to so much as put on his drawers. Barnabas teared up quietly, and placed a hand on Jonathan's chest. The good doctor had toned his body well, strong arms and a firm stomach, but his chest was still soft, still betraying his more feminine origins. Barnabas couldn't say he was jealous of the man, but living in such a liminal space, in the border between male and female, it appealed to Barnabas in a way he couldn't articulate. He wanted the option, he wanted to be able to choose, but he'd never found the path to do so.

He didn't think about kissing the smooth brown flesh in front of him. He simply did, just pressed his lips into Jonathan's soft chest and offered a reverent kiss before pulling back. "I know you hate these, but they're so beautiful to me. If I could take them from you and wear them myself, I would do so in a heartbeat, and give you anything you asked for in return. I don't know why, I don't have the words to explain it; I'm not as well-read as you or Magnus or Smirke, or anyone, but I wish I was so I could tell you just how much I want to be like you. Liminal, beautiful, beyond reproach. I could never dress like something I'm not." 

He couldn't turn his voice off now, babbling on about his unimportant problems. Even as he heaved in a gulp of air, he could already feel more bubbling up inside him, threatening to overflow messily if he didn't let it out of his own accord. "Nobody would believe me, would they? My face may be smooth but it would only ever be a man's. I'm not agile enough, not fair enough to look as a woman does, or to confuse the senses until nobody can tell what I was meant to be. And I don't feel the urge to chase such a thing as you do. It's not an urge, only ever a quiet desire that I would never act upon. It's hardly even worth talking about, when you have such a change that I admire. I don't mean to trouble you with this, I'm sorry I'm so emotional. I don't mean to be. I don't know what I want, it's not...it doesn't make sense."

"Barnabas." He sniffed and looked up at the sound of his name. "It doesn't need to make sense. What I've learned in my own investigations into the topic is that it rarely will. I was blessed with the ability of a simple transformation, but it's rarely so simple as that. I may not understand you perfectly, but I doubt I ever will, and I'm sure you would make a fine young lady if you wanted."

"But I _don't --_ "

"And if you wish instead to be something else, you would be equally as wonderful. I don't see why you couldn't be both, our own modern Hermaphroditus. I would never grant you less than your worth, and this is more than anything, exactly what you deserve." He leaned down to press a kiss to Barnabas's lips, chaste and pure. "If you so wished, I think you could fit yourself for a few gowns and corsets, and you would look supreme. Perhaps when our circle comes to visit your home, you can wear them, and astound us all with your beauty." John smiled down gently at Barnabas, and he melted.

"Yes. I think...I think I'd like that, John."


End file.
